"Meet me at the mezzanine connector between Terminal Two and the airport transit station at three-thirty," Arthur instructed. "Do not confront him alone if you spot him early. If he suspects the net is closing, he will abandon his checked bags, buy a domestic ticket on cash, and vanish into the crowd."
The call cut as the plane dropped through the final overcast layer, the steel trusses and gray runways of O'Hare rushing up to meet our landing gear. The tires hit the grooved pavement with a screech, reverse thrusters roaring as we decelerated down the runway.
I was out of my seat the instant the chime sounded, pulling my shoulder tote from the bin before the line had even shuffled forward. I moved down the jet bridge, out into the concourse of Terminal One, and onto the moving walkways, my eyes locked on the digital overhead monitors.
At 3:32 PM, I took the escalator up to the elevated transit concourse. Arthur Vance was already standing beside the concrete pillar near the train platform, wearing a heavy charcoal trench coat, holding a leather litigation bag in his left hand and a folder in his right. Beside him stood a woman in plainclothes carrying an airport identification badge around her neck, accompanied by two uniformed Chicago police officers.
Arthur stepped forward, his eyes taking in my wrinkled travel jacket and white knuckles. "Claire. This is Investigator Sarah Lin from the State's Attorney's Financial Crimes Division. She reviewed the notary recording and the IP logs on my drive over."
Investigator Lin extended a hand, her grip brief and firm. "Ms. Miller, we verified the server timestamp on the SecureSign session. The video feed used to execute that quitclaim deed contains distinct frame interpolation artifacts consistent with synthetic generation. More importantly, the IP address listed on the notarization transaction matches the residential billing address for David Miller on South Grove Avenue. That gives us probable cause for aggravated identity theft and forgery of a deed conveyance under Illinois Compiled Statutes."
"Where is he?" I asked, my voice raw.
"He checked in two bags at the United international counter at Terminal Five at two-fifteen," Lin said, pulling a dispatch tablet from her coat pocket. "He cleared the preliminary ticket scan, but he hasn't passed through TSA security yet. Our terminal cameras show him sitting in the open mezzanine restaurant near the Terminal Five international departures concourse, outside the secure perimeter."
"Why hasn't he gone through security?" I asked.
"Because he's waiting for the Lisbon flight's gate assignment to open at five o'clock," Arthur said quietly. "And because he still thinks you are stranded at an architectural firm in Denver, frantically trying to reschedule a meeting that doesn't exist."
"We can pick him up right now," one of the uniformed officers said, touching his radio.
"No," Investigator Lin countered, looking directly at Arthur and then at me. "If we approach him with uniform officers in the open concourse before we have the hard physical documents in our hands, his defense attorney will claim he was traveling on legitimate firm business and intended to wire the funds back on Monday. I want him holding the travel documents. I want him on camera confirming his destination and denying your presence. Ms. Miller, can you face him without tipping him off?"
The memory of the twenty-six-foot box truck backing over my mother's perennial beds flashed behind my eyes. I saw his quiet smile as he dropped our brass door key into the stranger's hand.
"Take me to Terminal Five," I said.
We took the airport transit system across the access roads, the elevated train gliding past the fuel depots and long-term parking lots until the curved glass pavilion of Terminal Five loomed ahead. The terminal was thick with international travelers: tour groups huddled around tour guides, families hauling oversized luggage wrapped in clear plastic, business travelers speaking half a dozen languages beneath the flight information boards.
Investigator Lin and the two officers hung back thirty yards, melting into the crowd near the currency exchange kiosk. Arthur walked three paces behind me, the legal packet tucked securely under his arm.
I saw David immediately.